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NORTHERN SKETCHES, 

OR, 

CHARACTERS 



G # # # # * 



By LEONARD SMITH. 



Tell me what this pile contains ? 

Many a head that holds no brains. Swift. 



LONDON. 



Published by J. Dick, and sold by the Booksellers of 
Edinburgh and Glasgow. 






FigOtt, Printer, 60, Old-street, London, 

■J 



PREFACE. 



Est modus in rebus. Hon. 

There is reason in roasting cockles. 

P. Pin da it. 



That vice ought to meet with reproba- 
tion, virtue with esteem, is a maxim 
that emanates from the moral principle 
on which all social union is founded. 
No one will be sceptical enough to deny 
a truth so obvious. Yet I fear there 
will be many, so biassed by their pas- 
sions ; — a sort of malignant drones, who 
have not only ceased laudanda facere, 
sed etlam laudare ; — a species of spider- 
pated animals^ who can suck venom out 



21 PREFACE, 

of medicinal flowers, — as to call in ques- 
tion the expediency of reducing this salu- 
tary maxim into practice, and to regard, 
therefore, these ingenuous Sketches with 
an unfriendly eye. If any such there 
should be, and with no great portion of 
second sight I am almost confident there 
will, I would humbly beseech them to 
listen to what the pilot of the little bark 
has to say in his own behalf; and per- 
haps he may be able to convince these 
testy folks, that he is not acting contra 
bonos mores in his present fishing excur- 
sion, undertaken purely from motives 
of amity and good will. 

It is certainly the duty of every man, 
as a being who looks beyond the limits 
of this narrow existence, who trusts for 
future happiness upon his share of pre- 
sent perfection, to use and encourage 
every mean that may tend to improve 



PREFACE. Hi 

and exalt his character. It will as rea- 
dily be granted, that the path to excel- 
lence is deceitful and difficult. There is 
no individual, however perfect his in- 
tellectual constitution, who is not apt to 
mistake the road, if he trusts entirely to 
hu own judgment ; for self-love is ever 
on the alert to mislead. Hence it is a 
common observation, that men never 
form so good a judgment of their own 
actions, as of those of their neighbours. 
It is certainly desirable, that this selfish 
bias should be counteracted : And eve- 
ry man ought to feel grateful to any 
friendly observer, who, with polite free- 
dom, points out his errors, and shews 
him again into the path of rectitude. 
What can be more convenient and use- 
ful to the one, more generous and dis- 
interested in the other ? Would we not 
reprobate any traveller in a strange 
country, who, without a chart or even 



IV PREFACE. 

a signpost to direct him, should, from 
a silly vanity of his own judgment, 
continue his way without making any 
inquiry at those he met, whether or 
not he was following the proper course ? 
The character of any man's understand- 
ing, is certainly as much implicated ; 
who, professing to pursue that excel- 
ence which his duty points out, trusts 
entirely to his own opinion of his con- 
duct, and will not lend an ear to the ad- 
vice of others. 

It is true, that this ability in one indi- 
vidual, to discover the faults of another, 
is the consequence of this very self-love, 
which tends to render men so errant and 
unsteady. 

None, none descends into himself to find 
The secret imperfections of his mind, 
But every one is eagle-eyed to see 
Another's fault, and his deformity. 

Drydex's Persius. 



PREFACE. V 

But, though originating from a bad 
source, no one ought to entertain less 
respect for a quality which is avowedly 
useful in its consequences. He ought to 
remember, that good frequently proceeds 
from evil ; and if he can derive any be- 
nefit from his neighbour's frailties, he 
should forget the source of it, and be 
grateful ab imo pectore. 

It is usual to maintain, that as per- 
sonal observations are apt to degenerate 
into scandal, all such observations ought 
to be suppressed. No man entertains 
a greater abhorrence of scandal than 
I do. I detest it as one of the great- 
est evils that can invade society. I 
regret that it should ever have impo- 
sed its hydra form on the beneficial 
and dignified power of criticism. But 
that a right has been abused is no rea- 



VI PREFACE, 

son that it should be discontinued. If 
its genuine tendency is salutary, we 
should endeavour to lop off the spurious 
branches, to restore it to its primitive 
tone, and then it ought to be encouraged 
in its operation. 

If in this innocent lucubration, there- 
fore, I shall be found to have adhered 
to the legitimate use of criticism, — the 
detection of err 01% and the disclosure of 
truth, — I rest for approbation on the basis 
of justice and utility. If in any thing I 
have deviated from fact, I trust it will 
be attributed to misapprehension and 
not to wilfulness; that it will be regarded 
with friendly lenity, and not with acri- 
monious severity. 1 am too sensible of 
the fallibility of human judgment to 
think I may not have erred ; but a know- 



PREFACE, VH 

ledge of my heart entitles me to claim 
the merit of good intentions. 

One thing I may add, as entitled to 
no small consideration. However lit- 
tle good these sketches may do among 
my fellow-citizens, they can do no harm. 
They are calculated to do wrong to no 
one. 

" If they do him right, 

" Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free, 
" Why, then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
" Unclaimed of any man." 

It is not improper to remind my 
readers, that the application of these 
sketches lies with them, and not with 
me. I pledge them, therefore, in their 
hands, with the hope that they will 
avoid any erroneous comments or inter- 
pretations, which may implicate indi- 
viduals whom the author had not in 
view, and to whom they do not apply ; 



Vlll PREFACE. 

so that none may be injured, or have 
ground for resentment. 

" I am the father of each child 'tis true, 

" But every babe its christ'ning owes to you." 



CHARACTERS 



GREAT TOWN. 



LORD ANTICOUGH. 



Asinus quanquam Tyrio conspectus in ostro 
Semper erit tardus. 

Buchanan. 

Adorn an ass in robes, with all your pains, 
Dull, stupid, spiritless, lie still remains. 



X recedence is a tribute due to distinction, al- 
though distinction is not always founded on superio- 
rity of merit. The reverence of wealth or dignity 
is the effect of an artificial state of society, and the 
observance of which a regard to society demands. 
Pay tribute to whom tribute is due, honour to whom 

A 



honour, is the expressive maxim of the Sacred Wri- 
tings : So likewise our immortal Bard, 

Respect great place ! and let the devil 



Be sometimes honoured for his burning throne. 

Measure for Measure. 

The force of these maxims, however, a churlish 
world has always been unwilling to acknowledge. 
But of the general failing I am proud to disown a 
share, and to hold them forth as my motive for 
selecting Lord Anticough from the crowd of ob- 
jects that press around me, as entitled to primary 
consideration. I select him, not as preeminent in 
singularity ; I pay regard to the blushing honours of 
his Lordship. 

The world is generally slow in forming an opi- 
nion of any individual character ; but, when an opi- 
nion is once formed, it is usually decisive. My 
Lord Anticough has been a considerable time in 
the field of public employment, and the estimation 
of his fellow-citizens may now be considered as well 
ripened. I regret it falls not to my lot to congra- 
tulate his Lordship with the meed of applause. 
The public opinion of his character has taken au. 



unfavourable bias. He is quaintly termed " A Com- 
mon Man," which, in the language of society, im- 
ports one neither eminent in virtue nor in vice ; 
whose qualities are of the plainest cast; who pro- 
ceeds through life without leaving any trace of his 
progress ; and of whom nothing more will be said 
when he dies, than has been expressively said of 
another : 

" Colas vivoit, Colas est mort? 

It is the general complaint, that the spurious im- 
portance attached to wealth, has raised his Lordship 
to a dignity for which his abilities are inadequate. 
How can one, it is asked, raised from a low condi- 
tion in life, and destitute of education, properly com- 
prehend or execute the duties of a trust so impor-. 
tant ? Ignorant of the true principles of political 
economy, has he been able to act with propriety or 
firmness ? Has he not been carried away by his 
own ignorance, by popular clamour, or by intrigue 
and sophistry, to pursue measures pernicious to the 
interests of the community ; or to adopt others ut- 
terly abortive and useless ? Unacquainted with mo- 
ral science, has he been able to avoid many moral 



deliqueneies, which the laws do not hold forth to 
reprobation ? Has he not neglected the moral go- 
vernment of those whose conduct comes under his 
control ? Devoid of all acquaintance with the phi- 
losophy of the mind and a rational theology, has he 
not been often induced to join the cry of prejudice, 
to act with all the illiberality of party-spirit, per- 
haps to resign his conduct to the guidance of super- 
stition ? 

It may be said, these queries embrace extreme 
conclusions ; and that, allowing much of the defects 
alleged, Lord Anticough may nevertheless fill his 
situation, not entirely without credit to himself, and 
advantage to the community. Is it necessary that 
every ruler should be a Lycurgus ? Must they all 
be men of great and speculative minds ? Idle fanfa- 
ronade of excellence, which can seldom be realised! 
Is not the plain honest sobriety of his Lordship's 
character the surest pledge of an easy and temperate 
administration ? A sober man will be diffident ; he 
will be considerate ; he will not hazard any devia- 
tion from old and established systems, but follow the 
path which has been beaten before him ; he will be 
fearful of offence, and cooperate in all the feelings 
and wishes of the people ; he will avoid all manner 



ef transgression against popular opinion. And has 
not such a line of conduct a well-founded claim to 
our regard and esteem ? 

This cautious timidity may indeed protect him 
from the blame of transgression, or at least tend 
to palliate his errors. But, in avoiding Scylla, the 
mariner is taught to beware of Charybdis : And 
what is all government but a troubled sea, beset 
with rocks and quicksands ; with storms and whirl- 
winds? It is not enough that a ruler avoid the rock 
of transgression ; he must not fall into the error of 
omission. The one sin is not less heinous than the 
other. Ignorance in private life may be deemed a 
venial fault ; those errors which result from it may 
pass without censure, if they appear free from evil. 
But in public situations of trust, in extraordinary em- 
ployments, the world have a right to look for ade- 
quate talents. The actions of public functionaries 
are designed always to do benefit ; if they do not, 
they cannot be justified. They do hurt, unless they 
do good ; they are scandalous, if they are suspicious. 
Their popularity cannot save them from reprehen- 
sion. The people are least of all judges of what is 
beneficial for them, and it is the object of raising a 
few into authority over the rest, that talent and wis- 



dom may decide. Philosophy is the only source of 
right government. 

" All policy but hers is false and rotten." 

There is no ground, however, to lament Lord An- 
ticough's preeminence ; every murmur ought to be 
quashed. Let it be remembered that fools as well 
as wise men must have their day ; that the one class 
has an influence in society, as well as the other, 
which enforces the unfortunate necessity of keeping 
on mutual good terms, that each may jog on its way 
in comfort. That " all men are born equal, and 
continue equal in their rights," was the celebrated 
maxim of the French politicians. The evil may be 
great, but it is irremediable ; and society must sub- 
mit to many periods of weak and foolish administra- 
tion, to enjoy the return of energy and wisdom. It 
is an evil, too, which may have its good effects ; for 
contrast enables mankind to discriminate more clear- 
ly between good and evil, more steadily to prize the 
one, and detest the other. 

From the consideration of my Lord Anti cough's 
public character, let me take a glance at his pri- 
vate life. Here I survey a more fiery field, No- 



thing is found to respect, — a great deal to detest. 
It has been remarked by some divine, that men 
are always disposed to sin, when they can do so 
with safety. The remark is strong, but expresses 
much truth. The fear of public obloquy has prevent- 
ed many a man from being a villain ; the love of 
public esteem has directed many a bad heart to the 
worthiest pursuits. Who would suspect that my 
Lord Anticough, so calm and equal in public life, is 
the victim of violent passions in private ? A more 
haughty or imperious master than his Lordship, a 
stronger instance of conjugal subjection, than his ca- 
va sposa, does not perhaps tread the earth from Indus 
to the Pole. The gratification of this worshipful 
dignitary is the primum mobile of his domestic eco- 
nomy, and the ease and comfort of every other be- 
ing is sacrificed to it. To indulge a lofty serenity, 
is his Lordship's foible ; and to such a height does 
he carry this important whim, that the slapping of 
a door, or the escape of a cough, is sure to disorder 
his whole system, and to bring on the unhappy cause 
a torrent of invective. How weak, how despicable, 
must such conduct appear to every kind and tem- 
perate head of a family ! Public and private tyrants 



are equally detestable, and the good and the virtuous 
must always rejoice, when the former meet with a 
Brutus ; — the latter, with a Censor. 



DR WORMWOOD. 



__ y^ e world's large tongue 

Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will execute^ 
That lie within the mercy vf your wit. 

Shakespeare. 



It has often been maintained, that literary pursuits 
have a salutary influence upon the conduct of an in- 
dividual in common life. They are said to soften 
the temper; to cherish those delicate emotions in 
which true virtue consists ; and, by expanding our 
views of human nature, to mortify the passions of 
interest and ambition, and, at the same time, to give 
us a greater sensibility of all the decencies and du- 
ties of life. Cicero emphatically terms the votaries 
of the arts and sciences, heroes of peace. But ex- 
perience, I think, does not support the assertion, and 



10 

evinces, in general, that the frailty of nature is ra- 
ther nourished than subdued by philosophical ac- 
quirements. There seems a steady propensity in the 
constitution of man towards imperfection ; to none 
more than that of self-love, -than which, there is not 
a richer source of illiberal and unsocial qualities. 
And it will be allowed, that this failing has never 
been moie common nor more powerful than in those 
•whom the world has termed philosophers. It would 
seem, that in proportion as the extent of their know- 
ledge raised them in the scale of intelligence above 
the herd of mankind, so their love of themselves, 
and their contempt of others increased ; that instead 
of being more impressed with the various decencies 
and duties of that social part for which man has 
been designed by Providence, they have not only 
imbibed the most thorough disregard of them, but 
appear to have deemed it a degradation to mingle 
in the sphere of common enjoyment. They have 
become coarse, illiberal, and unmannerly. The gra- 
tification of their self-love, and all the wild passions 
'which it stirred up, has been their ruling motive of 
action. Diogenes, and not Plato, has formed the 
model of their conduct. 

Some of the brightest ornaments in the circle of 



11 

literature afford examples of these remarks. The 
spleen of Swift, the vanity of Pope, and the rude il- 
liberality of Johnson, savoured little of the enlight- 
ened philosophy of their minds. A humorous cata- 
logue, says one of these great men himself, might be 
formed of " the fears of the brave, and the. follies of 
" the wise." What a wide distinction is there be- 
twixt precept and practice ! How oft do individuals 
assume the right of catechizing their fellows, wht> 
stand themselves in need of tuition ! In the ro- 
mance of life they are divinities ; in its history they 
are men : amid all their wisdom they still continue 
to be frail, more culpably so from their superior 
knowledge of what is right. 

li It lights a torch to shoiv their shame the more" 

Every age lengthens the list of " wise fools," anil 

" Fame, which round the world delights to stray? 

has caught the name of Won m wood. 

Dr Wormwood's abilities and knowledge have de- 
servedly acquired him a large share of professional 
reputation. Intimately acquainted with the various 



12 

relations of the human constitution, and possessed of 
strong powers of judgment and discrimination, no 
man perhaps is better able to sift the prognosis of a 
case, and of couise to apply its remedy. When 
our health or existence is in danger, we naturally 
court the most skilful aid. This is a situation in 
which we least of all are guided by our likes and 
dislikes. From this principle, the practice of Dr 
Wormwood is extensive, although upon every other, 
I am inclined to think, he would be doomed to ne- 
glect and obscurity. 

All doors are barrd against a bitter flout. 
Snarl still he may, but he must snarl without. 

Persius. 

Wormwood presents none of that affability which 
every physician ought to possess in order to inspire 
confidence ; none of that tenderness necessary to al- 
leviate shame, or to countenance delicacy. Stern 
and sarcastic in his manners, he grates the feelings, 
always most tender in infirmity, and imposes silence 
on the tongue, His face appears to have made a 
perpetual divorce from smiles. He treats his pa- 
tients rather as subjects for ridicule, than relief j in- 



13 

thdges in impertinent and superfluous interrogatories; 
and is not always observant of that fidelity which 
ought to distinguish so confidential a character as a> 
physician. 

Fully sensible of his skill, he is not less careful 
that it shall have its price. The worthy Doctor can- 
not perhaps charge his conscience with the iniquity of 
one single gratuitous act ; — unless where he had the 
view of gaining more by his generosity, than he 
could by his extortion. Humanity never troubles 
his breast ; charity shuns it as " a dry and parched 
" land, in which there are no waters." His hands 
arc always open, 

" Not to bestow, but to receive.'' 

Gold is the grand sine qua non ; it is the passport 
to all advice ; it is the key to the treasures of his 
mind. Oft has he been known to turn the poor 
wretch, pining under the double burden of sickness 
and want, from his door, without affording, not pecu- 
niary assistance, but the small tribute of advice, 
which was earnestly implored ! Humanity shudders 
at an act of so much cruelty, shrinks from an ob-* 
ject of so deep depravity. 



14 

The love of money produces many singular changes 
and contortions on this worthy Doctor. He is not 
content with pursuing it by professional means, with 
confining himself to a traffic with Charon. The 
garb of Hippocrates is often thrown aside ; and we 
behold the Doctor enveloped in a sowing sheet, or 
loaded with invoices and plans. He farms, builds, 
exports : he dabbles in every thing by which he can 
make money, and, in the way of making a bargain, 
may defy rivalship. 

Wormwood is a Cynic of a new cast. He de- 
spises and snarls at the world ; but places his hap- 
piness in the enjoyment of a profusion of earthly 
things. Yet he loves not wealth as a mean of ac- 
quiring some separate and solid benefit ; he loves it 
for its intrinsic worth, that vilest degradation of hu- 
man appetite. He is not entirely an Elwes or a Sil- 
lerton, for he allows himself every kind of moderate 
indulgence : But he presents the meanness of both 
in his exorbitant thirst for lucre, and far exceeds 
them in the baseness of the means which he em- 
ploys. We are disposed to pity a man who will not 
enjOy the favours which fortune has heaped upon 
him, but who husbands them for posterity : We 
detest one who endeavours to amass wealth by suck- 



15 

ing the pockets of his neighbours, by imposing a 
tax on wretchedness and misery. 

The desires of Wormwood present a singular con- 
trast to those of Shakespeare's Cynic ; and by mo- 
difying a little the prayer of Timon, we may behold 
the Doctor breathing in spirit and in truth. 

Immortal Gods, bestow some pelf. 
I pray for no man but .myself. 
Grant I may never prove so fond, 
To trust man on his word or bond ; 
Nor yet a beggar for his weeping ; 
Nor e'er believe one dead who's sleeping*; 
Nor patient treat with my advice, 
Unless he first pay down the price. 



Amen ! Amen ! Ye Gods so be it, 
Let all men ail, if I but fee it. 

* It is related, not of Dr Wormwood, but of on& 
to whom he bears no little resemblance, that a weal- 
thy citizen who had the misfortune to require his 
visits, was in the custom of having the gold always 
ready in his hand to electrify the Doctor when 
lie felt his pulse. One day it happened, on the 
Doctor's making his stated call, that the servant 



16 

With all these blemishes in his character, Worm- 
wood is a man who has drank deeply from the 
streams of literature ; whose fame, for varied and ex- 
tensive knowledge, for ingenious and able disquisi- 
tion, is spread far and wide. But where is the saluta- 
ry influence of literary habits on his conduct ? Have 
they expanded and softened his mind ? Have they 
raised him above all selfish considerations ? Have 
they warmed his breast with benevolence ? Have 
they impressed a superior observance of any of the 
social duties upon him ? 

curve hominum, o quantum est in rebus inane ! 



informed him " All was over." " Over !" re-echoed 
the Doctor, as the remembrance of the customary 
fee flashed on his mind, " Impossible ! he cannot 
be dead yet. No 1 No ! Let me see him, — some 
trance or heavy sleep perhaps." The Doctor was 
introduced into the sable apartment; he took the 
hand of the pale corpse, applied his ringer to that 
artery which once ebbed with life, gave a sorrowful 
shake of his head, while with a trifling legerdemain 
he relieved from the grasp of death tzvo guineas, 
which in truth had been destined for him. " Aye, 
Aye, good folks," said the Doctor, " he is dead ; 
there is a destiny in all things ;" and full of his 
shrewd sagacity, turned upon his heel. 



DR TRANSIT. 



There are whom heaven has blest with store of wit, 
Yet want as much again to govern it. 

Pope. 



W ere it in the power of the pen to produce the 
effects of the painter's pencil, and to pourtray 
the character of the mind as expressed in the fea- 
tures of the face, I would represent to my readers 
a young man, high indeed in the estimation of the 
world, but far higher in his own opinion. I 
would paint the expression of inward satisfaction 
sparkling in his eyes, and frowning from his brow, 
in the proud gravity of assumed self-consequence. 
I would depict contempt in his looks, as he sur- 

E 



18 

veys around him men whom heaven has not blest 
with his talents, nor with his education ; whose 
merit it has been to pass through life with the ap- 
probation of the few, and far removed from the 
laughter of the many ; whose source of happiness 
was their honest and well-spent life, and not the sil- 
ly admiration of the ignorant, or the yet emptier 
bubble of self-importance. 

__»_. _. « jfxc est 



" Vita solutorum miser a ambitione." 

" Such is the life from bad ambition free" 

The world will exclaim, " This is Dr Transit," 
but very probably the Doctor will deny the likeness, 
and discover it in his friend ; for, of all prejudices, 
that in favour of one's self is the blindest, and most 
difficult to be cured : 

." It travels through^ nor quits us when zee die ;" 

—a quality in the composition of every man, which, 
as it is governed and directed, may incite to the 



19 

noblest efforts, or cover with lasting ridicule. In 
the rich soil of the Doctor's mind, nourished as 
it was by his habits and pursuits, it flourished 
luxuriantly, and has become the ruling passion of 
his soul. 

Believing he knows as much as any man, he has 
the air of being perfectly satisfied on that head, and 
of envying nobody ; but, aspiring beyond the limits 
of reputation to which this terrestrial system con- 
fines him, he now seeks to elevate his fame to im- 
mortality, by the discovery of new firmaments and 
new worlds, conceived in the wildness of his imagi- 
nation only, but already embodied by the vigour of 
hope. 

This knowledge of astronomy, as it enlarges our 
conceptions of the Great Author of this, and every 
other system of being, is the most proper, likewise, 
according to Fontenelle, to teach humility to a just 
and right formed mind, from a contemplation of 
the immensity of the universe, and the consequent 
insignificance of man in the vast scale of existence. 
In Dr Transit, however, it increases only that low 
ambition which has not for its object to render us 
tetter and wiser, but to obtain public notice ; and 



20 

that silly vanity which is gratified by public admi- 
ration. 

The language of Transit forcibly discovers the 
feelings of his mind. In the proud tone of conscious 
superiority, he intrudes on every company ; he pes- 
ters the learned, and insults the ignorant, with im- 
pertinent recitals of his abilities, his merits, and his 
labours. " Did you hear my lecture last night f 
he exclaims. " Did you not feel astonished ? Was 
it not great? comprehensive] wonderful! Why, Sir, 
I think my labours are immense ! I think I do more, 
Sir, in one day, than all the College of Doctors in a 
twelvemonth!" — Strange effect of science ! that a man, 
as he grows more learned, should grow likewise more 
impertinent and ridiculous ; and, as he excels in 
merit, that he should be more hated and despised in 
society ! 

Yet I have seen Dr Transit affect a modest air ; 
for he has been told that modesty becomes a great 
man ; as people of a short size crouch on entering a 
room for fear of striking their heads. 

The just tribute of applause ought not, however, 
to be withheld from merit : and I am willing to al- 



Si 

low that Dr Transit possesses some sense, some abili- 
ties, and some learning ; but 

Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto. 

Virgil. 



MRS D. PELZIER. 



che gentile 



Scongiuro ha ritrovato questo sciocco 
Di rammentarmi la mia giovenezza, 
II ben passato e la presente noia. 

Tasso. 

A pleasant 'way the rogue has ta'en, 
Back to recall my youth, and show 
What once I was, and what I am. 



It is with pleasure I turn from the vices and fol- 
lies of the one sex, to trace the lighter, more deli- 
cate, but more capricious peculiarities of the other. 
I may say capricious* since Lord Chesterfield has 
said before me, that he never knew a woman in all 
his life act consistently for an hour together. The 
term may be easily forgiven, therefore ; and the more 
willingly too, as I do not extend the authority so 



23 

far, nor put it to so bad an use, as I might, in the 
present case. I might relate, for instance, many a 
pleasant story of caprice in Mrs Pelzier, even af- 
ter she had become a wife, but long before she had 
learned to wear a cap ; and entertain the reader, 
on sufficient grounds of truth, with curious dia- 
logues between the lady and her husband about 
the necessity of wearing caps at all, or the plea- 
sures of a rocking horse. But these are trifles that 
may be related of every young lady, of young Eng- 
lish ladies in particular : And I disdain such little 
methods of painting a character, which, it would 
appear from using them, I was unable to distinguish 
otherwise. Let me endeavour to catch those great- 
er lineaments which mark and particularize the indi- 
vidual in the circle in which she moves. 

In societies, as in governments, there are always a 
few who appear to be destined by their talents, their 
situations, and by circumstances, to lead and direct 
the mass of the people ; to influence them, at least, 
on the side of virtue, or to be their guides in the 
paths of vice and folly. Whichever part they act, 
the effect is never indifferent. Their example 
spreads to all around them, and descends even to 
the lowest. 



24 

Mrs Pelzier acquired this preeminence in the 
community to which she belongs, at an early age 
This was a period of pleasure and gaiety, of splen- 
dour and extravagance ; but her cultivated mind 
and the elegance of her taste, refined the former, 
and concealed the evil of the latter. Under this 
alluring disguise, her bourgeoise neighbours were 
little able to discover the poison, and drank the 
chalice off to the lowest dregs. She was caressed, 
envied, and followed ; and her faults became copies 
for the conduct of those who imagined that profu- 
sion and finery were elegance, while they wanted 
that taste which refined the extravagance of Mrs 
Pelzier. They grew fond of the course of folly into 
which they had slipped, and continued their career 
with eagerness. Extravagance excited a spirit of 
emulation ; and emulation, in return, inflamed the 
madness of extravagance. 

" As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake, 
" The centre mov'd, a circle strait succeeds, 
" Another still, and still another spreads," 

so did this spirit extend among the fair inhabitants 
of the city. But in this splendour they appeared 



25 

like those who have recourse to ornament to coa- 
ceal their ugliness : their defects were not only- 
undisguised, but others were produced ; the tawdri- 
ness of the whole was heightened, and its vanity 
made more absurd. They raised themselves, to 
speak in the Italian manner, to the height of ridi- 
cule, and sunk their husbands, many of them, in the 
depths of bankruptcy. 

That these have been the consequences of this dan- 
gerous spirit, none, I believe, will presume to deny. 
But it would be unjust to attribute them entirely to 
the influence of Mrs Pelzier, and to make her the au- 
thor of every folly that was committed in the circle of 
fashion during her reign. I do believe there would 
have been folly enough in the circle had she never 
presided over it, though there might not possibly have 
been so much extravagance. But it serves to show 
how much depends on the conduct of those who 
have attained an eminence in society ; how nice the 
line is, that divides the affluence of rank from extra- 
vagance ; and how much it is necessary (it is de 
Vega who makes the remark, I think) in those who 
lead and direct the spirit of the society they form a 
part of, to lead and direct it to just and proper ends : 
rt Quanto es necesario in ellos quienes guian y diri- 



26 1 

" gen el genio de la sociedad endonde estan, diri- 
i( girlo a los objetos justos y propios." 

Mrs Pelzier is now in the wane, and her claims 
to admiration have long since ceased to be acknow- 
ledged. She must now found her power, if she 
would preserve it, and there is little difficulty of pre- 
serving it against those who tread at present the 
mazes of fashion, on the basis of esteem, and leave 
the youthful to dazzle and to be flattered. 

" So when the suns broad beam has tired the sight, 
" All mild ascends the moons more sober light ; 
" Serene in virgin modesty she shines, 
" And unobserved the glaring orb declines J' 



COUNSELLOR VELLUM. 



Our city's institutions, and the terms 
Of common justice, yare as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That zee remember, 

Shakespeare. 



JL he power of habit, either to strengthen or coun- 
teract the natural dispositions of men, is almost unli- 
mited. The chords of the heart are of a pliant na- 
ture, and fall readily under the impression of exte- 
rior circumstances. When once impelled from their 
natural bias, a rapid assimilation to the change 
takes place, while the tide of life continues to flow 
with undiminished energy. So the tender scion, 
transplanted from the open field to the garden-wall, 
abandons its natural propensities, and, under the 



28 

shackles of art, spreads luxuriantly forth in gro- 
tesque and unnatural directions. 

This influence of habit is strongly marked in the 
character of the individual before me. In the dawn 
of life, while nature continued to give the spring to 
action, few were more distinguished for their ami- 
able qualities than Vellum. — Sincere and tender in 
his attachments, polished and engaging in his man- 
ners, he was an object of general attraction. But, 
induced by the necessity of following a respectable 
and lucrative profession, rather than from any relish 
towards legal practice, he threw himself into the 
fast arms of the law, and from its hard bosom 
has since imbibed nothing but selfishness and dis- 
trust. 

His industry was now exerted to obtain a sub- 
sistence through the quarrels and animosities of his 
fellow-creatures, and his heart soon became poisoned 
by the deceit, injustice, and knavery amid which it 
was his lot to labour. He imbibed a degree of cun- 
ning into his own conduct, and became distrustful 
of that of others. His sentiments lost their pristine 
complexion, and became clouded and selfish. A 
view to his own interest assumed the rule of all 
his actions ; he became estranged from every 



29 

finer relation which softens and adorns the path of 
life: 

Vers'd in the commerce of deceit 
How soon the heart forgets to beat ! 
The blood runs cold, at interest's call 
We look with equal eyes on all. 



Affection dies, a vernal flower, 
And love the blossom of an hour. 

Then lovely nature is expell'd, 
And friendship is romantic held ; 
Then prudence comes, with hundred eyes s 
The veil is rent, the vision flies / 

Logan". 

Convenience has assumed the place of principle, 
and thrown its flimsy mantle over the mind of Vel- 
lum. He maintains a wide society, because to keep 
company is genteel, and a portion of time is thus 
agreeably dissipated. But amid the flattering crowd 
who call themselves his friends, he knows not the 



30 

delight of one solid attachment. The companionable 
qualities of hard drinking and sober conversation, 
form the brittle chain of connection. — The Counsel- 
lor is of an amorous disposition, but of too cool and 
sensible a turn of mind to assume the airs of a ge- 
neral gallant. His passion is purely of a sensual 
nature, and its gratification a matter of shillings and 
pence. 

Although Vellum's habits have sunk him in the 
scale of worth, he is not altogether an unuseful mem- 
ber of society. He is eminent in his profession for 
ability, and I may add integrity. He is not what 
we would strictly call an honest lawyer, one who 
weighs the cause more than the fee, who would ra- 
ther be dumb than plead for injustice. A being of 
this sort is a rarity in the legal circle, who would 
stir up enemies in it as readily as quills may be 
raised on the fretful porcupine. Vellum's practice 
is as much in the offensive as defensive ; his skill 
is as often employed in out-baffling as in supporting 
right. 

" Bid virtue crouch, bid vice exalt her horn, 
" Bid cowards thrive, put honesty tojlight, 
" Vellum will prove, or try to prove it right.* 



31 

But this is all in the common way, and nobody 
blames him for it. He receives on every hand the 
credit of strict fidelity to the cause in which he en- 
gages, and will not, Janus-faced, take a retaining 
fee from the plaintiff, and afterwards a sinister bribe 
from the defendant. He is zealous in his client's 
cause : He does not follow its course through the 
courts, but manages it : He has a perfect knowledge 
of his profession, and, with a large share of pene- 
tration and sagacity, proves an excellent anatomist 
of meum and tuum. 

He partakes of an accusation common to his bre- 
thren, that of being exorbitant in his charges : but 
this is the language of a foul-mouthed rabble, not of 
men of sense. A lawyer's profession is considered 
too much as mercenary ; the money given him is 
a just acknowledgment for his advice and well-in- 
tended endeavours ; and if the object of contention 
should vanish, perhaps, in the abyss of proceedings, 
the blame ought oftener to be laid on the intricacy 
■of the case, or the forms of court, than to the im- 
proper conduct of the individual who managed the 
contest. 

I may add another observation. Vellum is not 
what a French author describes a lawyer to be 7 th^ 



32 

dread and terror of his neighbours. He suffers them 
to live in quiet, without continual alarms of actions 
and indictments ; nor does he make any piece of land 
fall nine years' purchase, because it lies within three 
leagues of him. 

In fine, Vellum, though not an amiable, is not a 
very bad man ; though sordid, he never passes the 
bounds of justice to obtain money \ though a law- 
yer, he continues to observe the law. 

Mundus erit qui non offendet sordibus, atque 
In utram 'partem cultus miser, 

Horace. 



MR MACSAPLESS. 



Uxorem, Posthume, ducis ? 



Die qud Tisiphone, quibus exagitare colubris ? 

Juv. 

A niggard, old like thee, to change his life ! 
What fury would possess thee with a wife f 



IVIy Lord Bacon has said, in one of his essays, 
that " wives are young men's mistresses, compa- 
nions for middle age, and old men's nurses ; yet 
that he was reputed one of the wise men who made 
answer to the question, when a man should marry, 
— ' A young man not yet, an elder man not at all/' 
The argument is here so ingeniously stated on both 
sides, and so conclusively for each, that every man 
may find reason enough to justify his conduct, how- 
ever much he may deviate from reason or decency. 
Of those who venture on this important change, 
c 



34 

no one perhaps becomes more ridiculous than he 
whom the necessity of a nurse does not urge to en- 
ter the pale of matrimony, but the delirium of a 
whim. It is men of this cast who fill up, in the 
scale of error, the distance that lies between the er- 
rors of folly and those of vice; who partake of both, 
and being thus more obnoxious, become more worthy 
of public censure. 

The general reflection applies directly in the pre- 
sent instance. It is not the age of Mr Macsapless 
we laugh at, when we see his decrepid form trem- 
bling over a staff, or sinking to the ground : we 
laugh only when we refleet that that cold withered 
body seeks to ape the heat and vigour of youth ; that 
those shrivelled arms hold, like a sepulchre, within 
them, a young and charming girl. Here, age carries 
with it no reverence ; it gains no respect : like a 
shade, it serves only to mark more strongly the fea- 
tures of folly in the picture ; but, unlike other pic- 
tures, where the eye is relieved, and the beauty of 
the whole is produced by the contrast, the mind 
is here shocked and disgusted, and the draught be- 
comes an overcharged caricature. 

I might extend the sketch, and exhibit Mr Mac- 
sapless at home, where his follies are much better 



35 

known, and his weakness is much better felt, did I 
not fear to disgust the reader by a description of the 
frailties and absurdities of this poor dotard. Nor 
to the lady of the piece shall I say much. The 
world loudly proclaims she sacrificed willingly her 
youth and charms to her love of money. It may 
be so : from a motive, likewise, similar to that 
which Martial alleges in one of his epigrams : 

" To Sapless married ! what reason ? — Oh, enough, 
" Sapless, you know, has got a churchyard cough" 

But whatever her reasons were, I forbear with 
pleasure to enlarge upon them. She merits our 
pity; she needs not surely our reproaches. Let us 
take leave of her in the words of Waller : 

" Since thou would'sl needs, bewitch'd with some ill 

" channs, 
" Be buried in these monumental arms, 
" All we can wish is, May that earth lie light, 
" Upon thy tender limbs ! and so goodnight." 



MRS HALFWORTH. 



Show your poverty of spirit, 
And in dress place all your merit ; 
Give yourself ten thousand airs. 

Swift. 



It is a true observation, because founded on a 
knowledge of the human heart, that those who can 
lay no claim to high birth, affect in general to de- 
spise it, as an advantage unworthy their regard. 
There are others, however, who lay too much stress 
on this advantage, and run into the opposite extreme. 
These are they who have grown proud as they 
have grown wealthy, and fear the more, and the 
more justly, as they rise to rank and eminence, lest 
the lustre of their new honours should be sullied by 
any nice inquiry into the origin of their family. 
They assume, therefore, what the poorest and most 



37 

common person of those they live among is able to 
deny them, — a pre-eminence of birth ; or else they 
endeavour, by some silly contrivance, to conceal in 
obscurity, or involve in uncertainty, the real source 
from which they spring. They remove, for example, 
the place of their birth to a great distance, and out 
of the immediate view of such as are willing to in- 
terest themselves about it ; but are not willing, or 
are unable to trace it there, by the uncertain light 
which is afforded them of a few hints. Were these 
pages to fall into the hands of Mrs Halfwortii, the 
lady whose character I sketch, she would no doubt 
feel readily, and fully too, the truth of all these obser- 
vations ; and should I go on to explain more clear- 
ly what I have touched upon, and point out Eng* 
land, for instance, as a place extremely favourable 
for affording this obscurity and uncertainty, it might 
bring to her remembrance — — — — , but I stop ? 

allor che in core haiferma, 



Gia la feral sentenza — ■ — ■ 

for I should be carried to make many strong allu* 
sions, and strong allusions might hurt the fair subject 
of this stricture. 



38 

I may proceed, however, to describe those fea- 
tures in the character of Mrs Halfworth, by the 
delineation of which I shall not raise in her any 
feeling of anger or pain, but rather a feeling that is 
allied very nearly to pleasure. For there are women, 
we know, whose vanity it is to be extravagant at 
any expence, — at the expence even of virtue and for- 
tune ; and who are willing enough to flatter this va- 
nity, by the sacrifice even of their character. I 
mean not to say that Mrs Halfworth carries this 
passion to so great a height ; but I will be bold to 
assert the lady would not feel angry, were she told 
that she is the most extravagant woman in . 

This sin of extravagance is a very grievous sin, 
not only in itself, but also in its consequences, 
both immediate and remote ; not only as it affects 
the extravagant themselves, but as it affects the age 
they live in, and as it descends to posterity. It is 
a spirit, which, when it enters a woman's head, drives 
out immediately all prudence, moderation, decency, 
and common sense ; and when it descends to the 
heart, impels her irresistibly to wage war upon all 
such as are possessed with the same rage of spend- 
ing. It creates thus many battles, skirmishes, and 
affrays, in the shapes of rival dinner and supper par^ 



59 

ties, balls, and new dresses, where those weapons 
ealled new plate, new china, new trinkets, new laces, 
and new silks, are levelled and darted by the com- 
batants with great dexterity, rapidity, and fury, to 
the manifest destruction of the lady's health in the 
first place, and the husband's purse in the second ; 
for in such battles, unlike all others, a victory is sure 
to exhaust more than a defeat. It incites them too, 
according to the constitution of their characters, and 
the temper of their vanity, to affect airs of haughti- 
ness and dignity, that become them no better than 
if they once had moved in the lowest sphere of life ; 
or else to assume little airs of softness and delicacy, 
which observers are ready to consider as mere af- 
fectation, arising from a very weak head, and a very 
vain heart. 

As to posterity, it is obvious, that this profusion 
and riot, this aping of high life, will soon swallow 
up the competence their labours may have gained 
them, and leave to their offspring that portion only 
with which they themselves perhaps began the 
world, — the portion of ignorance and poverty. 

The terms I use sound harshly, but the censure 
is just, and it will appear to be so in the highest de- 
gree, and upon the highest reason, if we look around 



40 

among such as I have characterized. We shall see 
how deeply this vice has taken root, and how far 
it has spread, among the wives of our citizens : we 
may not only deplore the evil, but we may do more : 
we may employ for the correction of it such means 
as it is in the power of every individual to use, to- 
wards the improvement or reformation of the society 
to which he belongs ; and, in fine, though these ends 
are hardest to be obtained, when they are the most 
necessary, yet the endeavours of every good man 
ought therefore to be the more employed to obtain 
them, that domestic virtue and happiness may be 
the better preserved and secured. Should such a 
spirit be raised to these purposes, in my fellow-ci- 
tizens, I humbly beg leave to recommend Mrs 
Halfworth to their early and special attention, 



REV. A. MASKWELL. 



Touch' d with each weakness which he does arraign. 
With vanity he talks against the vain, 
With ostentation does to meekness guide, 
Proud of his periods levelVd against pride. 

Anon, 



A clergyman who devotes his exertions to the 
amendment of his fellow-creatures, who enforces his 
precepts by their strict exemplification in his 
own practice, deservedly ranks high in worth 
and respectability. Such a character is not less 
good and useful than the opposite is vile and dan- 
gerous ; — one who admonishes with equal ability, 
but exhibits in his conduct the pattern of every vice 
which he holds forth to reprobation. His behaviour 
throws ridicule over his professions : the vicious 
laugh at his denunciations, despise him for his 
hypocrisy, and the well-inclined slip into vice from 



42 

that impression of insincerity which they naturally 
imbibe from the example of their preceptor. 

The popular talents of the individual before me 
raised him to an ecclesiastical charge, which is in 
fact easy, yet affords a trifling revenue to the in- 
cumbent. The " pomp of circumstance" had ta- 
ken a strong hold of Mask well's mind, and, with an 
indulged fondness for good living, made him view 
the narrowness of his means with a mixture of re- 
gret and spleen. His appetites rankled in his breast, 
and urged him to make some sinister exertions to 
gratify them. He seems to have had no relish for 
those violent cures for violent passions pointed out 
by the examples of the Sacred Fathers. Not he, good 
soul * ! He sought not to subdue, but to satisfy the 
cravings of nature ; he honoured his passions, and 
scrupled not to make them the most costly sacrifices. 

I know not whether custom or statute has im- 
posed on our churchmen the rule of not employing 



* It would have been carrying the mortificatioe 
of the flesh rather too far, to plunge into a well in a 
cold winter's night, or to roll himself Jiudior oxo ir. 
a field of snow, like Francis and other saints of holy 
memory. 



43 

themselves in any handicraft, or other ostensible bo- 
dily occupation to gain money ; but it is so proper 
a tribute to decency, so necessary to the perform- 
ance of their functions, and so correspondent to their 
evangelical character, that every one must regret 
when its spirit is in the slightest degree violated. 
In one kind of bodily traffic, (usually the first in 
which clergymen engage), although the world talks 
loudly of their skill and address, it is certainly not 
disposed to charge them with blame ; and that is 
the matrimonial. In obeying the dictates of nature, it 
is no doubt a happy circumstance when an estate 
as well as a wife can be obtained. It makes a com- 
fortable improvement in the condition of the indi- 
vidual, without taking him out of the way of his 
profession; and his good fortune never gives occa- 
sion to censure, when it is found to make no bad 
impression on his character. 

Maskwell followed this old-beaten path, and, by 
a matrimonial adventure, partially realized his wish- 
es. He found his weight in society much increased 
by a respectable addition to his fortune; and his 
power " to feast and be mellow" agreeably en- 
larged. It is seldom, however, that riches do not 
taint the heart ; and we have oftener occasion to 



44 

observe a vitiation than improvement of character 
in those who possess them. They are the source 
of many evils, and of that greatest of all evils, the 
•want of more. Maskwell having got a little money 
into his hands, his wits were set immediately on 
edge to discover how it could be most profitably 
employed ; and although fettered by a profound re- 
verence for the cloth, he still found that a partner 
might sleep, and a jobber traffic in land, without 
much offending public observation. 

The impropriety of churchmen employing them- 
selves in any occupation foreign to that in which 
they have ostensibly engaged, consists greatly 
in its tendency to estrange them from the per- 
formance of their duty ; and if that effect is produ- 
ced, it is no matter in what manner, or under what 
cloak. A man may as well take up a trowel, as be 
for ever absorbed in building plans. The evil is the 
same, though in different shapes. It is this effect which 
the public charge on Maskwell. His worldly con- 
cerns have entirely engrossed his attention. His 
duties are in continual pursuit of him, and have of- 
tener the fortune of missing than finding him. 



This is not the full measure of the evil which 
has grown out of Maskwell's excessive thirst for 
money, — 

Perdidit arma, locum virtutis deseruit, qui 
Semper in augenda festinat et obruitur re. 

Horace. 

His wealth has rendered him proud and imperious 
in his manners, inconsiderate and insolent in his 
language. We never turn from him with pleasure ; 
seldom without our feelings being disgusted. Are 
not these faults doubly reprehensible in a minister of 
peace, whose labours lie so much among the meek 
and lowly ? 

Would this were all ! He who is wrapt up in the 
desire of gain, has indeed deserted the path of vir- 
tue ; and principle and feeling become alike banish-* 
ed from his breast. Let me ask Maskwell how his 
filial and fraternal duties stand affected by his base 
passion for money? Has he acted with generosity 
or justice in either? 

M Quidquid sub terra est P in apricum proferet cetasP 



DR L ###### *' 



The good alone have joys sincere > 
The good alone are great. 

Beattie. 



x\mid the arid deserts of a southern sun, how re- 
freshing is a spring of water to the thirsty traveller! 
how exhilerating the appearance of a palmyra, 
blooming in verdure, to his dejected soul ! Can it be 
less grateful to the feelings, to turn a while from the 
vice and folly we have been reviewing, and to con- 
template an object of genuine worth and virtue ? 

Although the consideration of a vicious character 
is the surest mean of unfolding the errors of our own, 
it is chiefly by the contemplation of a virtuous one, 
that a resolution of amendment is strengthened and 
confirmed. The impression is more violent in the 
one case, but not so lasting as in the other. The 
abhorrence with which we contemplate a picture of 



47 

vice, is too ardent a feeling to be long indulged, and 
evaporates soon ; but the admiration raised by a dis- 
play of virtue, is a calm yet exquisite sensation, 
which takes a kindred and impressive hold of the 
mind. It beholds the picture of what it was before 
sullied by corruption; it feels as in Its proper ele- 
ment; every dormant principle of right is kindled; 
and the impression is fondly indulged, until it as* 
sumes an influence, perhaps produces a total revolu- 
tion in our habits. 

The character before me presents an example of 
virtue, which is seldom equalled in the circle of the 
world. Envy itself is silent while his praise is told, 
or joins the general tribute of approbation and ap- 
plause. In public as well as private life, his excel- 
lence is alike conspicuous ; his virtue presents itself 
in so many amiable relations, that the eulogist finds 
himself at a loss upon which to fix as the most 
eminent and praiseworthy. 

Born to an independent fortune, and blessed with 
superior talents, the exertions of his life have been 
devoted to promote the comfort and happiness of his 
fellow-creatures. The value of these gifts he only 
estimated in so far as they extended his capacity of 
doing good. They gave birth to no selfish pride, nor 



43 

idle ambition of worldly distinction. Contentment 
filled his breast, and warmed it with gratitude and 
benevolence. He sought to diffuse the same feelings 
around him, to teach men to be happy, and to be 
grateful to the Author of their happiness. 

From a firm belief in the excellence of Christiani- 
ty, of its tendency to promote the present as well as 
future interests of mankind, he became a minister of 
that holy system. Actuated by the same benevo- 
lence and elevation of mind which guided him in 
the choice of this important profession, he despised 
the idea of profiting by his labours, and devoted the 
whole of his ecclesiastical revenue to the poor. 
Noble example, worthy of record and imitation ! 
How doubly conspicuous is its merit, when we re- 
flect on the numbers of his brethren, who, wallowing 
in wealth, yet greedily endeavour to increase it by 
every mite, which the religion they profess should 
teach them to bestow on the widow and the orphan! 

The beneficence of the amiable L r^ has 

not been confined to this generous sacrifice. A 
large part of his private fortune has been annually 
expended in the relief of affliction and distress. The 
view of misery never meets his eye, but every hu- 
mane and tender principle of his nature is excited. 



49 

He has been known to take the shoes from his feet, 
and bestow them on the shivering mendicant, whose 
coverings 

— ■ " had Ions withstood 



" The winter 's fury and encroaching frosts" 

What an interesting picture of benevolence ! 

11 Careless their merits, or their faults to scan s 
" His pity gave e'er charity began." 

The beneficence of this excellent man is distin- 
guished by that delicacy which is ever inseparable 
from purity of sentiment. His benefactions are be- 
stowed with an engaging tenderness, which increases 
the feeling of gratitude, while it precludes the idea of 
obligation. They are done in secret ; the applause of 
his own breast, not that of the world, is the reward 
to which he aspires. 

Who can behold so distinguished an example of 
benevolence and virtue, without a degree of sympa- 
thetic emotion ? What sorrow must attend the re- 
flection, that misfortunes have limited his power to 
do good, by depriving him of any part of that wealth 



50 

which he administered with a fidelity so worthy the 
steward of his Great Master ! 

If we trace Dr L in his ministerial 

functions, we still find him the same elevated and 
upright character ; persuasive in his exhortations, 
watchful over the welfare of his flock ; kind and af- 
fectionate to those under affliction and sorrow. We 
behold an example of that respect and esteem which 
ministers of religion may derive from their situation. 
He shews, that it is not by parade, nor by punctilious 
acts of devotion, still less by grimace or by the in- 
trigues of hypocrisy, that they can render themselves 
dear to their people, or formidable to the enemies 
of the faith, but by those virtues of which the hearty 
of the people are the judge, and which exhibit to 
every eye an image of that Being who is justice and 
beneficence itself. 

In domestic life we perceive every circumstance 
tending to promote his happiness. All the pleasure 
which virtuous exertion produces he enjoys, undis- 
turbed by any doubt of the estimation in which his 
motives may be held by the world. Conscious of 
the benevolence of his own feelings towards others, 
he inclines to believe that they are actuated by the 
like. Sensible of the imperfections of human nature, 



51 

he is ever disposed to make allowance for its errors ; 
no injury can unruffle his mind, or lessen the extent 
of his philanthropy. — In every domestic relation, we 
view him friendly, beneficent, and just. In the field 
of science, we are called to respect him for his eru- 
dition, and for his exertions in enlarging the bounds 
of knowledge. His views are liberal and compre- 
hensive, obscured neither by bigotry nor by scepti- 
cism. He feels the benign influence of science upon 
human nature, and assiduously promotes the diffusion 
of it among mankind. 

Such is the worthy L , whose excellen- 
cies I regret the inadequacy of my pen to delineate. 
May he long enjoy the sweetest of all reflections, the 
reflection of having done good to mankind! " It 
forms a comfort under distress, and serves to heigh- 
ten every pleasure. No affliction can take it from 
us, no joy can render it superfluous." 



CHRISTALIA. 



Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, 
And wisdom falls before exterior grace. 

Couper. 



J. he fair Christ a li a holds a conspicuous rank a- 
mong the fashionables of the present day ; and me- 
rits our attention, as affording an example of the 
many evils which attend an ambitious desire of dis- 
tinction in the gay world. 

Christalia is indebted to nature for a lively disposi- 
tion, and considerable powers of mind; but these ad- 
vantages have been perverted and debased by a bad 
education. The glare of false grandeur easily capti- 
vates vulgar minds. It was the lot of Christalia's 
parents to be suddenly elevated from poverty to af- 
fluence. Riches engendered pride, and pride a de- 
sire of distinction. Observing the weight attached 
to what are termed fashionable accomplishments, 



53 

they conceived the. idea, that, to excel in these, was 
the only way to public estimation. They according- 
ly plunged into the most unlimited extravagance, 
and made fashion their model in every thing ; — in 
their house and furniture, their dress, their taste, 
their opinions. The young Christalia escaped not 
the evil contagion ; her attention was withdrawn 
from every solid pursuit, and devoted to jashionable 
attainments. The sole object of these is to regulate 
the external appearance ; the cultivation of the mind 
is out of question. 

" All that interferes and dares to clash ' 
" With ignorance and luxury, is trash." 

Christalia swerved not from the course of educa- 
tion marked out to her, 

" Till tamed and tortured into foreign graces, 

" She came to sport her face at public places, 

" And with arch-laughing eyes behind her fan, 

u To act her part with that great actor, man" 

The exterior appearance of Christalia certainly 
does credit to the care which has been bestowed 



54 

upon it She possesses an agreeable expression of 
features, a little distorted, however, with conceit: 
her person is handsome, and improved by a good car- 
riage ; she dresses with elegance, is easy in her man- 
ners, possesses several useful accomplishments, and 
prattles with the most satisfactory gaiety. Such 
are the exterior qualities of Christalia. For internal 
graces, we are doomed to a fruitless search. Her 
mind is absorbed with vanity and ambition, — a vanity 
of her person, and an ambition to force it into no- 
tice. These pernicious passions never beat higher 
in any female breast than in that of Christalia. 
The ambition of shining, as a fine lady, appears to 
have become the paramount rule of her actions, and to 
have risen superior to every consideration of modes- 
ty or prudence. It has suppressed that sensibility of 
soul, which is the brightest ornament of a female 
character, and has rendered her callous to every de- 
viation from moral rectitude. 

Do I speak too severely of a passion, which is 
borne upon a cloud of proofs ? From how great 
want of feeling could Christalia behold that wealth, 
which gave birth to the extravagance and folly in 
which she has so long been ban tied, driven to the winds, 
and the credit of the world repeatedly forfeited, witl*- 



00 

out feeling corrected and humbled ! How great was 
her indiscretion, in appearing, amid the ruins of a fa- 
ther's fortune, as gay, as splendid as ever, excelling 
the daughters of every honest and unbroken citizen ! 

" ■ Heic vivimus ambitiosa 



u Paupertate omnes." 

" Though poor, ambitious still to shine." 

— Alas ! how true is the remark of D'Alembert, that 
ambition is the only passion which " has no respect 
-" to blood, to friendship, nor to duty." 

But I may be accused of harshness, in loading the 
fragile subject before me with animadversions, which 
fall with more propriety on those who have placed 
the viper in her bosom, and fostered it there, 
by their encouragement and protection. On them, 
indeed, the censure falls with tenfold force ; but who 
would attempt to pierce a rock to draw forth water? 
Habits with old people become too inveterate to af- 
ford a prospect of eradication. 

" He who at fifty is a fool, 

u Is far too stubborn grown for rule." 



56 

It is not them I would endeavour to impress with a 
sense of the vicious folly of an idle ambition ; it is 
the fair, misguided Christalia, in whom I trust there 
still remains some germ of feeling and moral sense. 
Let her be persuaded, that to attract the gaze of the 
world is a miserable compensation for its contempt 
and reprobation; that to gain the admiration of 
others, is a poor return for internal disquiet. Let 
her search her breast, and tell what solid pleasure or 
satisfaction her past pursuits have imparted to it. 
Then we may indulge the hope, that she will turn 
from the error of her ways, and follow the path of 
virtue and wisdom ; — a path in which the natural but 
long suppressed energies of her mind may obtain her 
more lasting distinction and esteem, than ever the 
applause of the idle and dissolute could afford. 

So the pure limpid stream when foul with stains 
Of rushing torrents and descending rains, 
Works itself clear ; and as it runs, refines, 
Till by degrees the floating mirror shines ; 
Refects each flower that on the border grows, 
And a new heaven in its fair bosom shows. 

Addison. 



DR GROVEL. 



Alas! 

What mighty dulness of itself can do ! 

Churchill. 

" Fruges consumere nati" 

" For loaves and fishes born to scramble. 79 



JL o raise monkeys to men, to degrade men to 
monkeys ; to attempt to annihilate or extenuate 
the line of partition between them, is a reigning taste 
in philosophy *." Sceptics are not content to witness 
the degradation of an individual below the rest of 
his species, and to allow him the slender stability 
which he acquires from standing at the bottom of 
the scale, but invidiously reduce him to a level with 
the most degraded of the whole animal world. Every 



* Lord Woodhouselee's Life of Karnes. 



53 

person of sober judgment will be disposed to regret 
the existence of a spirit of generalization, which is 
productive of conclusions so gross and extreme. 

It is however, unfortunate, that the qualities of 
many in society should afford too much food for this 
levelling spirit : and among the many, the subject of 
the present stricture holds a very conspicuous sta- 
tion. It has often been facetiously remarked by the 
celebrated Dr G******, that were he to make out a 
scale of the animal world, he would place Man at 
the top, and Dr Grovel at the bottom ! 

This ill-regarded individual has had the misfortune 
to be elevated, by the pretension of great talents, to 
a situation, the lustre of which has not only exposed 
his defects, but rendered these doubly obnoxious by 
rendering them conspicuous. He presents an exam- 
ple of what a supple and cunning disposition, check- 
ed by no feeling of delicacy or honour, can achieve 
in human life ; and shews, that the eminence of dig- 
nity is easier to be gained by flattering and beguiling 
the passions that guard it, than by obtaining thg 
countenance of the goddess of reason, who holds the 
nominal control over it. 

Possessed of feeble and narrow powers of mind, 
this Reverend Doctor has never dived farther into 



59 

literature, than the necessity of a graduation requi- 
red: Yet he has always had enough to say of his 
talents, but has wisely refrained from bringing their 
excellence to a test. He is in truth 

" No intellectual lion, 



:i Subduing every thing he darts his eye on ; 

" Rather , I ween, an intellectual flea 

" Hopping on sciences broad bony back, 

" Poking its pert proboscis of attack, 

" Drawing a drop of blood, and fancying it a sea.' 7 

Grovel's manners, however, have performed what 
talents ought to have done, but which his were un- 
qualified to do. By a fawning and wily mode of 
conduct, by a cautious attention to opportunity, and 
by a steady regard to his personal interest, he has 
pushed himself forward in society, and usurped situa- 
tions of honour and trust, which ought to have been 
the rewards of merit and virtue. Without learning, he 
has ventured to assume the. superintendence of men 
of learning! Without virtue, he has pretended to ad- 
minister public affairs with integrity ! 



60 

These inconsistent relations between Dr Grovel 
and his occupations, put me strongly in mind of a 
ludicrous picture I have seen somewhere of a com- 
monwealth turned topsyturvy. The administration 
of affairs was represented as committed to an ouran 
outang ; his coadjutors were all idiots and madmen ; 
and every being who could boast of intellect, was 
held in leading strings by this monstrous junta. 

The ignorance and imbecillity of Grovel have left 
deep traces of their injurious influence on his public 
administration. Never was there one more tarnish- 
ed with errors, nor more ruinous to the interests 
committed to his charge. In all his views he has 
been contracted and short-sighted ; and has fortified 
them with that common attribute of ignorant and 
■weak minds, — a stubborn resistance to correction. 
Through good and through bad report he has car- 
ried forward his designs to completion, crushing can- 
did and manly opposition with the iron hand of au- 
thority, or gaining the support of the scrupulous and 
wavering by his artful and insinuating addresses. 
For, like every one who is actuated by no settled 
principle of rectitude, while he would curry to a dog 
to gain its favour, he could show his teeth where he 
was aware that fawning would only exasperate. 



61 

A man who makes interest the rule of his actions, 
is in that respect only undeviating and steady ; in 
the rest of his conduct he is as variable and shifting 
as the cameleon in its colours. So the world has 
beheld the opinions of Grovel for ever veering about 
as the genial currents of influence might chance to 
blow upon them ; aptly resembling the flickering 

" straw, that's whirl' d by every blast. 1 " 



His services have been ever at the command of 
wealth or power ; exemplifying the degrading maxim 
of Walpole, that every man has his price. In what- 
ever direction he may have found it necessary for a 
time to steer, he has been always alike zealous, alike 
full of pretensions to sincerity. 

This staunch and successful place-hunter has been 
greatly stimulated in his progress by an insatiable 
spirit of avarice. The prospect of a savoury morsel 
has been as great a lure, as the honour of coming in 
at the capture. Among the clerical pack he has 
been always distinguished for the quickness of his 
scent, and his skill in pursuing the game. Not a 
cur among them all but could tell some instance of 
his superior cunning and sagacity ; of the bye-roads 



62 

which he has taken ; of the fences he has leaped ; or 
of the quagmires through which he has dashed, in 
order to outstrip his associates, and seize the brush. 
Not a Nimrod under whom he has sped the field, 
hut could describe the fawning and insinuating man- 
ner with which, at the close of the day, he has 
licked his feet, or climbed his knees, 

— " the envied crumb to snatch." 

When the days of a man are drawing to a close, 
can there be a more interesting or more affecting 
contemplation, than to revert to the actions of his 
past life ? How gratefully does the remembrance of 
good deeds refresh the mind, and sooth the cares of 
age ! What an exhilerating light does it cast on the 
gloom of futurity ! 

Our own strict judges, our past life we scan 9 
And ask if virtue has enlarged the span ; 
If bright the prospect, ice the grave defy, 
Trust future ages, and contented die. 

Tickell, 



63 

In proportion as these considerations have weight 
on the mind, how much ought that man to suffer, 
who, retracing his journey through life, cannot dis- 
cover one action honourable or praiseworthy ; no- 
thing upon which to rest for relief or consola- 
tion! 

A self -deserter, from himself he strays 

- in vain; companions black as night, 

His pressing cares arrest him in his /light. 

Francis's Horace. 



DR ALAMODE. 

" Vel natura levat, xel medicina necat? 

" Some people die of old age, some of the Doctor." 



Among the many arguments that have been devised 
against the utility of the Art of Medicine, this has 
been perhaps one of the most ingenious, — that not- 
withstanding all the discoveries and improvements 
which have been made in it since the days of Escu- 
lapius, as many people die now, as died then, in pro- 
portion to the different degrees of population of the 
earth. Fontenelle advances this argument in one of 
his Dialogues of the Dead ; and it will not be con- 
sidered as refuted by what he asserts in reply, that 
physicians at least prolong our lives for a short time; 
since equal authorities might be cited, and much 
better grounds of probability be shown, to prove that 
as many die in an early age at the present time, as 
died at the same age two thousand years ago. 



65 

Now if all this be true, — if our lives not only can- 
not be preserved to old age, but not even prolonged 
for an hour, by any human means, it will follow 
that there is m reality no use at all in the science 
of medicine. A strange dilemma! which I might 
increase, were I to descend into a greater detail, 
and show, that, though the application of this sci- 
ence cannot serve any good purpose, the misapplica- 
tion of it, by ignorant men, may serve a very bad 
one, — that of shortening the life which it attempts 
to prolong. Sure I am, it would not be hard to 
prove, that most people die where there is the 
greatest number of physicians. — But I apprehend 
growing too prolix ; and it is sufficient for my pre- 
sent purpose to inquire, What then is the true use 
of these gentlemen ? and in what respects do they 
benefit the world, on which they impose ? The 
answer is expressed by an old French epigram I 
have read somewhere : 

" Respectables enfans clu cekbre Hippocrate, 

" Dont Veloquent babil nous console et nous flatted 

They sooth and console us in sickness, and flatter us 
into better hopes and better spirits. 

E 



66 

This end, if such they will allow me to call it, is 
attained by no one in a higher degree than by Dr 
Ala-mode. He, at least, appears convinced of the 
truth of the previous considerations, and acts accord- 
ingly ; without assuming, as is assumed every day,, 
by men of less talents, the absurd power of preser- 
ving life. It is sufficient for him that he renders 
life agreeable, or, at least, tolerable to his patients : 
He presumes no farther ; for he knows the extent of 
human powers and human knowledge, and reveres 
the unalterable laws by which our constitution is go- 
verned. 

Will it be said, in censure, of the prudence of Dr 
Alamode, that he is thus apparently wise, from a 
real want of ability ? — That he stops thus short 
in the pursuit of knowledge, because nature has 
not gifted him, in common with other men, with 
the means of proceeding farther? It will be said, 
— it has been said, — by those persons only who 
wander, under the guidance of imagination, from 
the precincts of real, in search of fantastical and 
unattainable knowledge. These assume, and impose 
their assumptions on a silly world ; with the more 
success too, very often, the less they deserve it : 
and, to give a fair colour to their own conduct, 



67 

they affect to treat the diffidence of my friend 
Dr Alamode as ignorance. Absurd vanity! They 
think it not too much for themselves to claim a 
knowledge and powers, to which they are incapa- 
ble, by their nature, of attaining ; and they bestow 
on Dr Alamode such a limited portion of each, as 
might almost degrade him from the same class of 
intelligent beings! 

It is not without reason, therefore, that I have ta- 
ken this opportunity of clearing the Doctor's cha- 
racter, which such persons have designedly too much 
abused, by doubting, or pretending to doubt, of his 
merits as a physician. They have indeed asked to 
be shown the cures he has performed ; and have 
triumphed with a loud laugh, or a silent sneer, when 
no such proofs of merit could be produced. But I 
have shown, that to cure was not his object, as it 
ought not to be the object of others ; and it would 
be quite as easy to demonstrate, that he has attained 
the real object which he sought to attain, — to sooth, 
to flatter, and to console us in pain, in sickness, and 

confinement. Almost every lady in could 

furnish me with some pretty compliment of the 
Doctor's to relate. " Ma chere Madame ! permettez- 
moi — 'tis only to feel your pulse.— — Que vous etes 



68 

eharmante, dans ce joli deshabille ! Ah, Madame ! 
be assured the paleurs of sickness will never over- 
come the bloom of that complexion. You took 

the draught last night ? Eh bien, Well, be so good 
as take another to-day, and you shall be allowed to 
play two hours at cards to-night." All this, I know, 
may be turned into ridicule ; and what is there that 
may not ? But surely it is better than the unbend- 
ing austerity of Dr * , the silly airs of conse- 
quence of Dr , or, which is still worse, the 

harsh unfeeling manner of Dr . They have 

all gone nearly the same journey by different paths ; 
and Dr Alamode has chosen the easiest and the 
shortest. 

The other charges which have been brought against 
the Doctor's character, are equally ill-founded. It has 
been urged, to instance one of these, that his dress and 
manners are affectedly in the French taste ; and are 
improper therefore in him, as an old man, and as a 
physician. To this objection we may reply by asking, 
Are not the French the politest nation in Europe? 
None will be found to deny it. And if they are so, 
in what respect does Dr Alamode err, in imitating 
those, whose study it is to be polite and complaisant? 
Candid men will consider it only as one great mean 



69 

of attaining that object which he has proposed to 
himself; and it would be improper in me to de- 
scend, for the sake of the ignorant or the prejudiced, 
to prove it by any farther details, and lengthen a 
subject which I have dwelt too long upon already. 

Let it suffice to say, in general, that these various 
objections, and others of the like nature, against Dr 
Alamode, will have influence on such only as are 
prejudiced in favour of living, and are vain enough 
of human nature to imagine, that human means are 
capable of preserving life ; but will have none with 
such as are content to trust in Providence, and not 
in men formed every way as weak and erring as 
themselves ; who are content to receive amusement 
where they cannot obtain assistance ; and to be ig- 
norant, in order not to be imposed upon. 



MR COLUMN. 



His genius, without thought or lecture^ 
Was hugely turned to architecture. 

Swift. 



.Distinguished as the inhabitants of the city of 
have for a long time been, for their opu- 
lence and their public spirit, it affords considerable 
matter of surprise, that they have been able to boast 
of few architects who have attained even to mediocri- 
ty of merit, and of none that have surpassed it. Even 
in present times, which panegyrists hold forth as so 
greatly advanced in point of improvement, there 
seems a wonderful disposition to bestow patronage 
upon persons absolutely devoid of every quality ne- 
cessary to form a good artist. The general style of 
building amply confirms these observations ; a mean- 
ness and vulgarity of manner being the almost in- 
variable characteristic. 



n 

Amid such sterility of genius, it is grateful to re- 
cognise a partial blaze of it in the subject now be- 
fore me. The abilities of Mr Column place him 
high in the local scale of his profession ; and had 
not these been too much counteracted by his way- 
ward propensities, they might have raised him to 
very distinguished eminence. To a delicate taste he 
adds an original and creative fancy, the two greatest 
characteristics of an able artist. But, from a facili- 
ty of temper and a disposition to social pleasures, 
which are almost become the proverbial concomi- 
tants of genius, his exertions have never been pro- 
perly directed to the improvement of his talents : 
his studies have been the excursive whim of an hour, 
suspended at the call of friendship, and renewed on 
the tide of recollection and repentance. His defi- 
ciencies are of course great, and the task of amend- 
ment still remains a burden on his riper years. 

The architectural productions of Mr Column, 
however, rank far above those of his provincial con- 
temporaries. In these we observe some approach to 
greatness of manner, but in those of his rivals an ab- 
solute departure from it. I fear much it will be long 
before a just taste in this fascinating art of architec- 
ture will be introduced arnon^ us. Are we never t© 



72 

be persuaded that a multiplicity of minute orna- 
ments, a vast variety of angles and cavities, clusters 
of little columns, ranges of urns, and a multitude of 
windows, are the indubitable signs of a meanness 
and vulgarity of taste ? Are we doomed to perpetu- 
ate the barbarism of Gothic times, and never to re- 
vive the pure manner of the Grecian school, in which 
every decoration arises from necessity and use, e- 
very pillar has something to support? 

" Fortunati quorum pia tecta resurgunt, 
" JEneas ait, etjastigia suspicit urbis." 

Simplicity is justly esteemed a supreme excellence 
in all the performances of art; as the productions of 
nature are accounted of a nobler and higher order, 
in proportion to their display of this quality. Let 
me hope that the reign of vulgarity is not to last 
for ever ; and, to use the language of a Roman 
Poet, 

" ut omnium 



" Versabitur urna, serius, ocyus." 



73 

Mr Column is entitled to the gratitude of his fel- 
low-citizens for having contributed, in some degree, 
to improve their taste ; and it is much to be regret- 
ted, that his careless habits should expose him to 
any diminution of the public favour. 



GIL SPRUCE. 



And I beheld among the simple ones, a young man 
void of understanding. 

Proverbs. 

You silly scribbling Beau, 
What demon made you write ? 
I'm sure to write you know 
As much as you can Jig ht. 

Swift. 



Uur reason, of which we are so proud, has now so 
little, and our passions so much influence, in direct- 
ing the conduct of our lives, that the question may- 
be asked very properly, which was put by an elo- 
quent writer of the last age, upon a different occasion: 
Would it not be better to walk upon four legs, to 
wear a long tail, and to be called a beast, with the 
advantage of being determined by unerring instinct 



75 

to those truths that are necessary to our well-being; 
rather than to walk on two legs, to wear no tail, 
and to be honoured with the title of man, at the ex- 
pence of deviating from them perpetually ? Brutes 
are directed by instinct according to the purposes 
for which it was implanted in them : a bear will not 
attempt to fly, nor a foundered horse to leap a five- 
barred gate, to use expressions of Swift ; but man, 
who is directed by reason, and by instinct too, is hur- 
ried round continually in a vortex of folly and error. 
Those who consider these reasons may not be 
surprised, that some men, in the present age espe- 
cially, have been induced to wish they had indeed 
been born beasts ; and if they read what follows, 
they also may see much reason for wishing, that 
some particular persons had been born beasts, who 
act and think little becoming their stations and 
their duties as men. Had Mr Gil Spruce, the 
young gentleman whose character I sketch, been 
born a cock or a bull, for instance, it is certain he 
would never have risen to that conspicuous ridicule, 
which he has now provoked, by attempting to write. 
Or had he, to descend a little, been born really and 
bodily an ass, he might have been kicked and caned, 
no doubt, but it is certain it would not have been 



76 

for his vanity nor his impertinence. He would have 
been retained and guided in the path in which he 
was placed by nature, without the means of becoming 
ridiculous, or, which is worse, of becoming odious and 
despicable. He would not, it is true, have travelled 
nor seen, as he thinks he has seen, the world ; he 
would not have learned languages, nor have been a 
iine gentleman ; fop is the term I would use : he 
would not, to be sure, either as a cock, or a bull, or 
an ass, have sung Italian ; in fine, he would not have 

been in love with D , and twenty more at the 

same time, — the silly character of a male coquette, 
to say no worse. But, on the other side, he would 
not have then attempted to write a book, — a great 
advantage surely ; as the affirmative draws along 
with it a chain of consequences very hurtful to the 
character of Mr Spruce as a human being. 

By writing, Mr Spruce intended to display, no 
doubt, some such advantages as those I have men- 
tioned, as well as to display the faults and disadvan- 
tages of other people ; but he did not foresee the con- 
clusions which were drawn afterwards from the for- 
mer ; nor sufficiently, if at all, attend to those con- 
sequences which resulted from the latter; though 
both the one and the other would have been obvi- 



77 

ous enough to persons of very ordinary understand- 
ing. It was not foreseen, for instance, that from 
the display of those qualities by which he had chosen 
to describe himself, the public would conclude he 
was a vain, affected fool ; nor that from the bold 
confession of vices, Which he meant to be charac- 
teristic of a man of fashion, they would conclude 
that he either asserted most impudent falsehoods, 
or else that he was a base seducer, and a mean and 
an infamous boaster of being so. — 

Good heavens ! that sots and knaves should be &o vain. 
To wish their vile remembrance may remain ; 
And stand recorded at their own request, 
To future days a libel or a jest. 

Dryden. 

Again, as to the consequences, Mr Spruce consi- 
dered very little then, though he may now, perhaps, 
be convinced, that his extreme readiness to oblige 
the world with characters, with those of others, and 
with part of his own, might lead it to a fuller know- 
ledge of the latter, than even he would be willing it 
' should become possessed of. It led, as one instance 



78 

out of many I could adduce, to the discovery, that 
he was an arrant coward. — 

" His pride regrets it ever should be said, 
" His heels eclipsed the honours of his head." 

Let the reader now weigh these observations, and 
endeavour to determine the relative merits of a 
cock or a bull, and those of Mr Gil Spruce. He 
may then discover, that the notions concerning 
the inferiority of powers in beasts, as well as their 
degraded rank in the natural economy, in some cases, 
have little foundation in fact or reason, but have 
been assumed rather through the pride and vanity 
of the human heart. — 

" That instinct is a surer guide 
u Than reason, boasting mortals pride ; 
" And that brute beasts are far before 'efn, 
11 Deus est anima brutorum." 

He will perhaps be satisfied that a cock and a bull, 
which perform the parts allotted to them in the sys- 
tem of nature, are preferable animals to men who 
do not perform their parts at all, but act quite con- 



79 

trary to them in some points ; and he may find rea- 
son indeed to exclaim, " How unfortunate it is that 
Mr Gil Spruce was not born a cock or a bull /" 

The contemporary authority on which I rest for 
the truth of the features of this character, contains 
so just and so fine a picture of the young man, that 
I cannot conclude the subject better than by quo- 
ting it. He is, says this elegant satyrist, " like 
a brainless youth, who, transplanted from the bleak 
regions of ignorance, and placed by some frolic of 
fortune in the gay sunny vale of good company, ex- 
presses his increased impertinence by empty buzzing, 
passes the bounds which conscious inferiority had 
once imposed, and overwhelms in a tide of impu- 
dence and affectation, all merit, modesty, and com- 
mon sense." 



MRS SANDY. 



Si un tel objet entroit avec tons ces grands noms, 
Le sourcil rehausse d'orgueilleuses chimeres, 
Je lui diroit bientot : Je connois tous vos peres. 

Boileau. 

" Should such as she approach me with this vanity, 
" This overbearing pride in all her looks, 
" Vd tell her of her ancestors." 



Xt was one of the precepts of Hamlet to the play- 
ers, to " suit the action to the word, the word to the 
action." The rule may be extended into a principle 
of conduct in life, founded on the justest reason, and 
extremely applicable to many who tread the stage 
at present ; who act on no other principle, but to 
gratify a reigning passion, or to follow a prevailing 
mode. It may teach us to suit our manner of living 
to the sphere in which we live, and that sphere to 
our means, — a lesson too much neglected by such 
as I have alluded to« 



81 

These persons continue steady in a mode of con- 
duct which most of them have had reason to desir * 
they had never pursued ; and act on principles, which 
not one of them, I will venture to say, would dare to 
avow without a blush. It becomes more necessary 
to teach this lesson, as the difficulty of practising it 
increases, and to enforce it by such means as lie in 
our power, that vice may be discouraged and its 
mischievous influence be checked. This is no chi- 
merical, but a real duty ; and were it discharged as 
it ought to be, in every case, or at least as it might 
be, in many, we should see fewer of those persons 
affect the airs and the vices of people of rank, 
who were born, perhaps, to a washing-tub : we should 
see fewer Halfworths and Sandys among us. But 
if this vice be so great in itself, (and I could bring 
many more examples of it than the subject of this 
stricture), what will be the feelings of every honest 
breast, when it is beheld both heightened by an over- 
bearing pride, that affects the highest state, and de- 
based, if I may say so, by a disgusting meanness, 
that descends to the lowest ? Strong indignation will . 
be one feeling, and profound contempt another. Mrs 
Sandy merits both. Born in a low sphere, of life, 
in .one no higher than that which I have just now 

F 



3upposed, and possessed of no talents to fit her for a 
tetter, it might be thought she would have been 
modest, (not from principle, but prudence), upon her 
elevation from this situation, the better to conceal 
her defects, which prosperity tended rather to dis- 
play. It was so thought at the time ; but a contrary 
line of conduct which she pursued, soon excited those 
feelings of indignation and contempt in the breasts 
of her fellow-citizens, and have forced upon me the 
unpleasant task of displaying to the world the vices 
and follies of a person whom I would have wish- 
ed rather to have passed over in silence. Yet when 
we see a woman abuse the advantages which fortune 
has given her ; to arrogate others, such as merit alone 
can give ; and assert, and support her claims to these 
advantages, by a conduct contrary to the principles 
from which merit arises ; when we see her act inde- 
cently, considering the former sphere of her life, and 
absurdly, considering the present ; in a word, when we 
see her both retain the vulgarity and meanness of low 
life, and assume all the pride and silly vanity of rank, 
without balancing either, by bringing any virtue from 
the former, or by using the latter to any good purpose, 
— it is hard to refrain from the strongest expressions 
of reprobation. When the cause of virtue is concerned> 



83 

the meanest hand may interpose in its defence ; and I 
am too sensible of the power of example, not to fear 
danger even from Mrs Sandy. 

I hold up the picture, therefore, as a mirror to the 
ladies, wherein many may behold their own folly at 
full length, and in so contemptible a light, that the 
deformity may recall them, if possible, to reason and 
virtue. Should these consequences ensue, and I do 
not altogether despair of so desireable a change a- 

mong the ladies of , we may behold, without 

much regret, Mrs Sandy as vulgar and ill bred as the 
means she has had of being so can render her, aud 
much more extravagant than her fortune can permit 
her to be : we may then, perhaps, without regret, 
behold her, 



— . "flutter on, 

From toy to toy, from 'vanity to vice; 
Till, blown away by death, oblivion come 
Behind, and strike her from the book of life" 

Thomson". 



SQUIRE CHATTERMORE. 



His wits were sent him for a token, 
But in the carriage crack't and broken. 

Butler. 



JLt will readily be allowed, that every man ought 
to rest for estimation upon his own personal merit, 
and that nothing is more contemptible than the pride 
of descent 

Let your own acts immortalize your name, 
'Tis poor relying on another's fame ; 
For, take the pillars but away, and all 
The superstructure must to ruins fall. 

Dryden's Juv. 

It is a frailty, however, which few have the hardy 
virtue to correct, to bring forward the qualities of 
their ancestors for admiration ; — a fondness infla- 



85 

med by the hope, that in admiring the blaze of the 
comet, the tail will not pass without some share of 
distinction. However little I may be disposed to 
respect such a propensity, I would blame myself for 
taking any thing away from this unworthy subject, 
by suppressing circumstances to which his pride has 
formed a strong attachment ; and my readers will 
therefore pardon my recurring to the past, while en- 
deavouring to sketch the follies of the present. 

Know then, all ye who have not steeled your souls 
against the indulgence of admiration, that the noted 
Squire Chattermore traces his descent to one of 
the most distinguished philosophers of a recent age, 
who generated the connection 

■ " In the lusty stealth of nature.'* 

Know, that the genius of this great man passed in 
undiminished vigour to his immediate offspring, and 
was exerted by them in a manner not less transcen- 
dant, perhaps still more romantic. As that emi- 
nent philosopher endeavoured to explode all former 
systems of the universe as erroneous, and to establish 
a more reasonable one of his own invention, so we 
have found his offspring actuated by the same su- 



86 

blime spirit, soaring beyond the contracted limits of 
human ingenuity, and astonishing the world with un- 
imagined discoveries. People still look back with won- 
der on the Archimedean attempt of one of the Squire's 
progenitors, to make coaches roll over hill and dale 
without eer a horse to draw them ! and still complain of 
the blind cupidity of those in authority, who could 
discourage so noble an invention, from the paltry con- 
sideration that it would diminish the post-horse duty, 
or be prejudicial to the interests of horse jockies. — 

Some may smile at the recollection of hill; but 

did they know the vile nefarious means which were 
used by those inimical to the important discovery, 
to produce the unfortunate, the ludicrous stoppage 
of the carriage at the bottom, they would call back 
rigidity to their muscles, and shed tears on the de- 
generacy of the times, and the misfortunes of ge- 
nius. 

Enough of so dolorous a subject!— ^It is time to 
turn to the individual before us, who boasts of his 
descent from this great, but 'unfortunate mechanist. 
The Squire has, fortunately for himself, inherited 
little of that extravagance of imagination which dis- 
tinguished his forefathers. In his quickness of per- 
ception, volatility of spirits, and weakness of judg- 



ment, we may still, however, discover some blazing 
embers of the spirit of the illustrious Chattermores. 
Convinced by sad example of the inefficacy of li- 
terary acquirements to procure either comfort or in- 
dependence, this hopeful youth spent not his days in 
dissecting triangles or tetragonals, or in investiga- 
ting the powers of mechanism. He contented himself 
with pursuing a more humble path in the world ; 
and skimmed the surface of knowledge for its more 
showy and ornamental advantages only. He gleaned 
superficial information, and searched deeply into no 
subject ; — a habit which has given him the quality 
of speaking tolerably on all things, although he is 
intimately acquainted with none. The polite arts 
have been an object of the Squire's peculiar regard, 
and he has cultivated them with considerable suc- 
cess. Let me select a few instances : — The Squire 
can sketch scenery, — he can tune a flageolet, — he 
can dance with ease, — and, moreover, in all these 
accomplishments, he humbly apprehends himself to 
be a virtuoso. On the merits of a Rembrandt, a 
Haydn, or a Parker, he will discourse with the nicest 
discrimination, and tell to a degree how much this 
excelled in colouring, that in execution, the other 
in attitude ! 



88 

These varied and valuable qualities have rendered 
Chattermore a being of no mean consequence in the 
drawing-room. But he has the misfortune of plea- 
sing only the silly gossipers of that circle, and no 
others. His manners are offensive and disgusting to 
men of sense. The volubility of his utterance, his 
pert flippancy embracing a great deal of the con- 
ciswn ac minutum of Tully, and his everlasting 
garrulity, never fail to set the feelings of his audi- 
tors on edge. However trifling the subject may be, 
the Squire is always right vehement in his speech ; 
but instead of producing a consonant impression on 
others, the effect is usually a ludicrous exposure of 
his own weakness and absurdity. His head is per- 
petually swimming in a flood of self-sufficiency ; and 
he has the appearance of never going beyond his 
depth. On every thing, however great his igno- 
rance may be, he appears always quite at home, 
and as one who could learn nothing new. Society 
imposes no restraint, but rather gives a spur to his 
licentious freedom. He seems to think all around 
him so silly or ignorant, that they ought to say no- 
thing ; and himself so able and well informed, that 
every one else ought to listen to his perpetual talk. 
The privilege of exclusively jabbering for an hour is in- 



89 

deed a great one ; but Chattermore seems to have 
formed no idea of any limits to bis usurpation. To get 
rid of tbis truly insufferable bore, bis friends bave only 
one alternative, tbat is, eitber by flying off as quick 
as tbey can, before their membrana tympani are alto- 
gether deafened, or by forcing the busy magpie to 
make his exit in some genteel and not unfashionable 
manner. 

The Squire's heart boasts of as little as his head. 
He is of a mean disingenuous disposition, which leads 
him to the vilest means to promote any object he 
has in view. But let me draw a veil over the scene 
which here opens to view ; for the greatest stretch 
of imagination will be infinitely more merciful to 
Chattermore than a disclosure of the reality. 



SIMON GRIPEALL. 



esecrabile avarizia ! ingorda 

Fame d'avere ! 

Ariosto. 

" Curst avarice ! insatiate thirst of gain ! n 



JL here is scarce any vice or folly more ridiculous 
among the sons of men, and there are few, therefore, 
which have been more exclaimed against in all ages, 
than an immoderate love of wealth. The subject may 
now be well considered as exhausted ; and I may be 
censured for treating of a matter that has been treated 
already, in the writings of so many great men, though 
with little effect upon society. Seneca shall excuse 
me. He says, in one of his epistles, that men trust 
more readily to their eyes, than to their ears ; that 
the way by precept is long, by example short and ef- 
fectual. " Homines amplius oculis quam auribus 



91 

credunt ; longum iter est per precepta, breve et effi- 
cax per exempla." This judgment is founded on ob- 
servation of the passions of mankind. Example 
speaks to these, flatters them, and animates them 
on the side of virtue, or deters them from vice. It 
assuages them likewise, and allows judgment to en- 
ter into the cause. In a word, the moral character 
is thus formed, and a right turn given to our ways of 
thinking, more effectually, and more permanently, 
than by the finest system of philosophy, or the most 
splendid eloquence. Declamation on this subject 
would be, as Hamlet expresses it, 

" Weary, stale, fiat, and unprofitable f 

but personify the vice by examples which we all 
know, and know therefore to be true, it then comes 
home to our minds and bosoms, to use an expression 
of my Lord Bacon ; the lesson is made in some sort 
practical, and we receive instruction from fact, when 
we might disbelieve speculation. 

To apply to my present purpose the general re- 
flection, let' us turn our eyes on Mr Gripp.all. In 
him we shall see the vice of avarice in all its deformi- 
ty : we shall see it in its strength, and in its conse- 



92 

quences: we shall see it despicable in itself, and 
hurtful to society. And no man will behold it, in 
such colours as those, without feelings of contempt 
and detestation. 

Every mean vice that is incident to human nature, 
is allied very nearly to the love of wealth, — extreme 
ignorance, a total contempt of virtue, a disregard of 
fame, a perversion of all that is good in us, and 
an application of all that is bad, to a base end. 
These form conspicuous features in the character of 
Mr Gripeall. But they are not all. The example 
shows a great deal more. It shews farther, that 
sentiments of a much higher rank may enter into 
the composition of such a character. Religion has 
entered largely into that of Mr Gripeall. But 
this proper mistress of human life and knowledge, 
whose office it is to conduct us rightly in both, be- 
comes in him degraded to a vile superstition, the 
child of ignorance and fear : she is reduced to con- 
nive at the indulgence of passions, and to be the 
cloak of principles and actions, the correction of 
which i§ one of her greatest objects. She has taught 
him neither charity nor mercy, nor good will towards 
men ; she has rendered his mind gloomy and contract- 
ed like his heart, in proportion as he affected more, or 



93 

really sought more perhaps to honour and obey her. 
Yet this very earnestness of zeal carries with it an 
advantage to Mr Gripeall, — the advantage of being 
better enabled, as he shows more sincerity, to impose 
his knaveries and follies on a credulous world. 
This he has done ; and both in society, and the 
church, from the weight of his purse in the one, and 
his zeal in the other, he has carried higher his pre- 
tensions to public eminence, the less pretensions he 
has had to the public esteem. 



A GROUPE. 



Petite papillons d'un moment, 
Invisibles marionettes, 
Qui tolez si rapidement, 
Du Polichinelle au neant. 

Voltaire, 

" Ye sunshine butterflies, 
" Poor puppets of a day, 
" To Punches rank who rise, 
f c Are laughed at, and decay." 



JL iieatres, ever since they were invented, having 
been compared very aptly to the world; and the 
world in return having been compared as aptly to a 
theatre ; I may be permitted to descend a little, and 
compare some societies, such as the one I propose to 
describe, to a Puppet-show. 

Besides the many and manifest advantages that 
puppet-shows possess in general, which I shall not 



95 

stop to enumerate, there is this farther advantage 
in the show I mean to exhibit, that the amusement 
we receive from it may tend to make us both better 
and wiser ; for my puppets do not move like others 
on springs of wire, but on those that move by far 
the greater part of mankind, — the springs of knavery, 
folly, passion, and whim. 

*' Come then the colours and the ground prepare ;" 

let the curtain be raised. 



Behold Beau Fribble, Ladies and Gentlemen, who 
very naturally, as naturally as it is for ignorance to 
be presumptuous, pushes first upon the stage. This 
nature's nothing, this " thing of things/' as Swift 
says, produced under a sun that ripened soon the weeds 
of folly in his mind, (an easy matter where there was 
no judgment to check their growth), and spoiled even 
in his formation, was sent nevertheless to this stage, 
that he might be the better displayed ; — acted for a 
little time the part of a fool, and then attempting the 
character of a fine gentleman, fell, from a love of his 



96 

native country, I suppose, into that of an ape. In this 
shape I have presumed to exhibit him — acting like an 
ape, grinning and prating like an ape, and biting also 
like an ape : an ape in every thing but understanding ; 
— there, to do justice to the apes, I must confess my 
puppet is infinitely below them. 



" Oh tempora, Oh mores ! hem ! Cicero." — This, 
Ladies and Gentlemen, is Dr Quotem, something like 
a statue, as Pope says, 

" Stepp'dfrom its pedestal to take the air;' 

a learned puppet, who has crowded as much into his 
head, as could be crowded into any block head what- 
ever. His learning has only this fault; it is of no 
use to any one, to himself least of all ; but may be, 
as it often is, extremely troublesome to others. " Fa- 
cheuse suffisance qu'une suffisance purement livresque/* 
says Montaigne, very justly ; or, in the decent lan- 
guage of our time, " What a horrible bore book im- 
pertinence is!" Dr Quotem, placed in this age of the 
world, is very much like a Dutch traveller in a foreigu 



97 

country, who gapes and stares indiscriminately at 
every thing, without understanding any thing. Ask 
him a question about the events that passed two 
thousand years ago, and you wind up the spring that 
sets all the machine a-going : it then rattles on with 
vast rapidity, and confused noise, until its force is 
spent, but not until you are stunned and stupified. 
Speak to him, on the contrary, of such events as 
have happened in later times, such as relate to 
the interest and wjellbemg of his own country : he 
becomes then as mute a puppet as ever was formed 
of wood. " Dieu le fasse done la grace de devenir 
moins savant;" — a wish I have read somewhere or 
other, and which I translate, that all may join with 
me in it, — " The Lord be charitable to him, and make 
him less learned." 



** John Gilpin was a citizen, 

" Of credit and renown, 
" A train band captain eke was he, 

u Infamous < town." 

Here, Ladies andGentlemen, is a true patriot- — in wood, 
g 



as 

I mean ; one who wears a sword in defence of his li- 
berties, and for his country is ready, at all times, to 
lay down his — ell-measure ! For their sakes, he fears 
no danger, and refuses no fatigue : he submits to re- 
views, and marches, and countermarches ; he endures 
rain, and wind, and cold ; and now minds the firing 
of gunpowder no more than the bite of a flea; 

" Duke et decorum est pro patrid militare." 

Moulded from true heart of oak himself, and act- 
ing upon the springs of honesty and plain sense, he 
comprehends little of those patriots of rotten wood, 
who are patriots till they get in, and then are— — ■ 
ministers till they're turned out. 



Permit me now to introduce to your notice, Miss 
Deborah Prim, one of those 

*' Thoughtful beings, long and spare? 

called in the language of the world, Old Maids. 



99 

Philosophers have disputed much about the use of 
this species of beings, but it is now generally allowed 
that they tread the stage of this life as beacons only 
to all young ladies that are sailing to the harbour of 
Matrimony. Miss Deborah, to carry on the meta- 
phor, is a beacon set upon the rock Pride, as others 
are upon the quicksands of Vanity ; and appears with 
this sour, sullen, gloomy aspect, merely to intimate to 
all such as approach, that they will remain wind 
bound for ever after on the shores of Ill-nature and 
Deformity. 1 cannot lengthen the detail of Miss 
Prim's qualities, for she has only two springs to go 
upon, Old Age and Ugliness ; which when pressed 
cause her to emit a disagreeable noise, resembling the 
grating of a door on rusty hinges. At all other times, 
she lives peaceably enough with the two emblems of 
herself, — her parrot, and her cat ; ignorant of the su- 
preme, unclouded, eternal joys of a married life ! 



Ha ! here he comes. — This, Ladies and Gentle- 
men, I assure you, whatever you may think, is the 
handsomest puppet in Britain, were it not for his d—d 
legs. " What !" you cry, 



100 



— « that thing of silk 9 

" C — — — that mere white curd of asses milk f 

Yes indeed. — He has got a paper head to be sure, 
but that only shows there may be paper skulls as well 
as wooden brains. But, in return, consider he's a 
soldier. — No ! 

# Not a soldier at all, but an officer J, 

" A col'nel who carries a sword on his thigh." 

Hear how he talks ! A valuable puppet ! — Were it not 
for his d — d legs. No piece of wood here possesses 
more advantages than he does. 

" A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead* 

and a light pair of heels too, to suit occasion. He 
moves upon the springs, first, of vanity, secondly, of 
vanity, thirdly, of vanity ; so that the spring being 
threefold, and likewise unique, it carries him higher 
in the air, and sinks him lower in the dirt, than ever 
a Harlequin went before. In short, and to draw a 
conclusion, (a difficult matter, in this case), he holds 
put to the world a very strong proof, that, 



lei 

14 Your Omurs, and Novads, and BluturJcs, and stuff, 
" By G — d they don't signify this pinch of snuff > 
" To give a young gentleman right education, 
11 The army's the only good school in the nation" 



The next I shall exhibit is a puppet who would 
be a Merchant, and is always to be seen, therefore, 
with a busy bustling air, and a face of deep concern. 
Though it is easy to conceive there cannot be much 
in a wooden head, yet observe him running continu- 
ally about as if his fortune was depending on his a- 
gility, or rather as if a bailiff was behind him. Now 
you see him stop suddenly, like a man perplexed 
and deliberating ; now, with the fore finger of his 
right hand on the thumb of his left, apparently cal- 
culating how much the profits of a cargo would be, 
— if it was his ; and again, 

" Knocking his pate, to see if wit will come — ■ 
" Alas ! in vain — there's nobody at home." 

I confess I hesitate in ascribing ambition to be 
the spring of all this ridiculous importance ; yet so 



10521 

it is. This person, with just as little ability as any 
puppet can have, aspires nevertheless to consequence 
and distinction. There are many such on the stage 
of the world, — men who can see in themselves a 
m«rit which no other can, 



« j[ nc l thus feel a pride, 

" In seeing more than all the world beside}" 

while every part of their conduct implies a total ab- 
sence of common sense. 



Who's he? Is that your Clown? — That ! that 
gvave, demure looking fellow ? No, that man is mar- 
ried. To be sure he was once our fool, and used to 
be remarkably at home in riding with his face to the 
horse's tail, playing tricks with blue stockings, SfC. 
But then he got married to a Wax Doll, and imme- 
diately after that, you know, lost all his suppleness. 

He is now only a stalking horse for his wife to 

Hush! here are more ladies, and it would be en- 
croaching on their prerogative to talk scandal. 



103 



This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is Miss Rattle, and 
this Miss Tattle, and this Mr Tippet, — all puppets 
of fashion ; that is, people who do less and talk more 
than any other body ; who have the privilege of re- 
tailing scandal, and inventing it too, without restric- 
tion ; at whose 

" Every word a reputation dies /' 

and, when tired of that amusement, to whom 

" Snuff or the fan supply each pause of chat, 
" With laughing, singing, ogling, and all that.'' 

An agreeable life ! These puppets, Ladies and 

Gentlemen, are of a singular construction, being quite 
hollow in the heart, which renders them very light and 
easy when they are about any dirty action, such as 
stabbing a character; and makes Mr Tippet very agile 
likewise, when he is dancing to the tune of a cane ^ 
— a tune, by the way, which -he is very apt to dance 
to, unless the spring of his heart is pressed, and his 



104 

u spirits sent down to the muscles of his knees, 
which are instantly ready to perform their motion, 
by taking up the legs- with incomparable celerity, in 
order to remove the body out of harm's way *." In 
the hollow space within these puppets, there are a 
thousand little beings that float up and down, called 
Whims, Vanities, Follies, Jealousies, Piques, Quar- 
rels, Desires, New Dresses, &c. 

" Multaque prceterea magnum per inane vagantur" 

and act as springs to keep the body in perpetual mo- 
tion. To give you a history of these, would be to 
give you the history of a fashionable, lady's life, and 
that is as much above my power, as beyond my com- 
prehension. 



* Descartes' Treatise on the Passions. Part iii. 



105 



I proceed, therefore, to exhibit to you Mr Bobby 
Downwards, so called from his peculiar excellence 
in making a bow. This arises from his being very 
empty and light from the heels upwards, and ha- 
ving a head with an unusual quantity of lead in it ; 
so that the latter, gravitating with peculiar force 
from its immense weight towards the earth, he is 
never in an erect position, but bending down, as if 
he was seeking something in the dirt among his feet. 
This puppet, Ladies and Gentlemen, is possessed of 
the almost incredible power of writing satires and 
sounds, of which I have an excellent collection at 
the low price of twopence each. But, before proceed- 
ing, I must beg your pardons for having so many of 
my puppets, — puppies. It arises, 1 believe, from 
the great affinity there is between a wooden head 
and a puppy's head ; and as the world, — the ladies in 
particular, encourage the puppies so much, I have 
been obliged, in deference to them, to bring these 
so often upon the stage. I must likewise entreat 
your pardons for bringing before you a puppet of so 
little importance, — one who acts no higher a part 



106 

here, than any little attorney's clerk does on the 
great theatre of the world. I own the fault. It is, 
as Pope says, like breaking a butterfly upon a wheel. 
But I own, too, that I desired very much to display 
before you 

" This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings ; 
" Whose buz the witty and the fair annoys ;" 

that you may see in him the wonderful faculty of 
writing verses, never seen in any piece of wood be- 
fore. This faculty is produced by three springs, 
vanity, impertinence, and dulness, operating at once 
upon his heart, and causing a paralytic motion in it, 
which forces open its valves, and ejects from it a liquor 
like froth through the greater Carotid artery up to 
the head, with excessive rapidity. This liquor run- 
ning through the masses of lead, deposited in his 
skull, as I mentioned before, extracts from them the 
venom called Acetite, with which having incorpora- 
ted, they soon after burst out together from his finger 
ends, under the likeness of ink ; assuming, according to 
the quantity of the aforesaid venom, the figures of 
sonnets, satires, conundrums, or witty sayings. 



107 

To prove the possession of this wonderful power, 
lie shall now sing you a song of his own composing; 
and with it 1 beg leave to close my exhibition for 
this time ; with the design, however, of returning to 
open it soon, with many more puppets that are al- 
ready made, besides some that are forming* 

BOBBY, 

A BALLAD*. 

On Mount Parnassus long I gazed 

With pangs of hunger torn ; 
At length, in night's wild dreary maze 

I crept up quite forlorn.- — — 

" Oh thin, thin are my breeches now, 

And cold, cold blaws the win', 
My purse is low, and living dear— - 

Ye muses, let me in."- — — 

" What caitiff knocks at our castle gate 1 
W T ho makes so loud a din ? 



* For an impudent parody on this beautiful liitle 
ballad, see the Edinburgh Magazine for March 1 80$. 



108 

Go, young man, go, you need not wait, 
For here you can't get in." 

" O do ye then reject that voice, 

Ye might by this time know ? 
Do ye reject poor Bobby 's voice, 

Nor will ye hear his woe l" 

" Bobby, is't you ! you impudent, 
Vile scribe, our greatest shame ! 

You need not think to enter here, 
So if you please, begone*" 

" Oh if ye wont as muses feel, 

Yet, yet as women do ! 
For colder blows the winter win* 

And colder I grow too." — 

" At the foot of our hill there is a ditch 
Prepared for each bad poet; 

* This poet, it is necessary to observe, never sacri- 
fices sense to sound, and therefore commits now and 
then a trifling inaccuracy of rhyme, in order the bet- 
ter to preserve the entire beauty of the verse. 



109 

There go ! — We need not tell the way, 
For you by this time know it." 

" And must I then ! — why then I must,- 

Ladies, your will be done ! 
There will I go, and starve and fret, 

And scribble, scribble on." 



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